Not About Love
by Meredith-Grey
Summary: He goes on with his belief that all he’s feeling is some sort of sick curiosity. His desire to observe a girl who will never have a normal life, who will never have a chance at what should be her birthright. PeterElle One Shot.


**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own any of this, the creative ensemble that is Heroes is beyond my thought capacity. Really. Title comes from a song by Fiona Apple by the same name.  
_

**A/N:**_My first Heroes fanfic. Reviews would be nice._

**Not About Love**

He isn't so surprised by her being there. After all, she does work for the company. Maybe she's not as religiously dedicated as some of the members from the old days, but she's still a vital factor into that particular equation.

But whether her loyalties lie with her employment or her father (perhaps even a twisted combination of both?) Peter isn't sure. It isn't something he dwells on, especially now.

Nathan is here, recovering from yet another fatal injury. Not so much an injury as fatality itself. He chooses not to watch; it's easier to think about if he pictures Nathan regaining his strength from some illness instead of returning from the dead.

And so he doesn't stop her when she takes his hand. In fact, he anticipates it, an expectation that is met without question. After all, she wouldn't be Elle if she just left well enough alone.

**I.**

She grew up on old movies. Watching all those damsels in distress competing to be saved, adored, loved. Perfected in the eyes of men. When she was little those movies made her spacy and full of dreams. Now they just make her feel like a fool.

Her father used to tell her that she was being silly; that she'd get bored if a man was always trying to save her.

Her father, the same man who said she was tough, who tested the full extent of her abilities. He told her that she'd never want a man to be the one to have her rescued.

She used to think he was right.

**II.**

In the silence of waiting, Peter gets it. It's all about cooperation. Give a little, take more than you lead on. He tells Bob about Adam, Bob arranges to help Nathan. Elle doesn't have a place in this, at least, that's what he keeps telling himself. He's not taking her and she's not being given to him. There is no exchange.

He goes on with his belief that all he's feeling is some sort of sick curiosity. His desire to observe a girl who will never have a normal life, who will never have a chance at what should be her birthright.

After all, he knows he can't keep her. Of that much he's certain.

**III.**

When he thinks about Caitlin he feels his stomach sink. Whether it's from love or guilt or the truth, he's not sure. Part of him desperately wants to fall in love and stay that way, to stop searching, to have someone who will be there without question. But he knows that isn't possible, not for someone with a life like his.

His conscience draws him back to the time when he didn't have a memory, when he just wanted a life, a future, perhaps even a chance to start over.

Now he just wants someone else.

**IV.**

He didn't mean to hear it; it was one of those things you just couldn't avoid.

It was Elle and her father. Leaving him to listen while she took his criticism, the kind of stuff a coach would tell an athlete. Uncaring for the feelings of someone who had been treated like she was less than human for the majority of her life. Like she was a weapon, an agent, a case file. Not anyone's daughter.

She almost walked right past him, her concentration scant, shaken. When her eyes made the connection she started drilling him. How much had he heard? Why was he listening? And could he, please, let go of her arm?

He's dragging her down the hall, asking how she can let him talk to her like that. How she can just stand there.

Subconsciously, the roles have shifted. The slight altering of protocol as she feels the opening of herself to him and his presence. And now she's the one leading him, down the hall, around the corner, into her room. The whole time she's tugging on his sleeve like a little girl, not understanding the weight of what she's asking or implying or what she fucking wants. (It's all become more than enough, and she sees that it's been like that longer than she wants to admit.)

The door closes, and those are her hands turning the lock, her body facing Peter, her mind that has gone utterly and undeniably blank.

Suddenly, she's forgotten everything she had thought to say.

**V.**

No one finds out about them. It's not like she has anyone to talk to. No girlfriends to giggle with over clothes and boys. Not even a diary to pen the details of how Peter took her, made her cum one, two, three times. (So much that she lost her head, lost the weight of inexperience and the pesky matter of physical innocence and unknown explorations.) Or how it felt to wake up–warm and aching–beside him, hours later, exhausted.

It's not like anyone thinks she cares.

**VI.**

When Nathan makes his recovery Peter can't even look her in the eye. She doesn't have to have it spelled out to her. It was never about keeping him and she knows it.

So when Bob asks her what the distraction is, asks why she's getting sloppy, cutting corners, she just shrugs. What can she say? That she's in love with a man that can never be with her? She knows this to be an exaggeration. It wasn't–isn't–about love. Just one part pity and a few parts curiosity for a man that would never lead a normal life. (But just might touch hers.) A man that wouldn't even get a chance.

After all, he wouldn't be Peter if he gave up easy.

**Fin.**


End file.
